


The Brave and the Beautiful

by Lady_in_Red



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Crack, F/M, Gen, Murder Mystery, Plot Twists, Soap Opera, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-12
Updated: 2014-09-22
Packaged: 2018-02-17 03:09:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2294606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_in_Red/pseuds/Lady_in_Red
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In King’s Landing, four families rule in politics and business. Amidst shifting alliances and a string of mysterious deaths, the city’s most influential residents have gathered to celebrate the marriage of Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. When tragedy strikes, Detectives Jaime Lannister and Addam Marbrand must solve the crime before someone gets away with murder.</p><p>A modern soap opera AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. So End Our Foes

**Author's Note:**

> I grew up watching American soap operas, but have fallen away from it in recent years as soaps began disappearing from daytime television.  
> With its murder plots, incestuous relationships, and archetypal characters, rarely have I seen a canon so well suited to being turned into a soap opera as _A Song of Ice and Fire._
> 
> All titles borrowed or adapted from minor House words.
> 
> Thanks to Miss_M for her beta. All mistakes are mine.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne follow a lead outside of the city while the elite of King's Landing gather for Joffrey and Margaery's wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title borrowed from the words of House Trant.

Chief Detective Jaime Lannister glanced at the address on his phone then shoved it back into his jacket pocket. Normally he didn’t work on Saturdays, but Jaime couldn’t resist the opportunity to skip his nephew Joffrey’s wedding  _ and  _ question a witness without a certain statuesque blonde shadowing him. 

The tiny resort town where Podrick Payne was hiding had seen better days. Most of the houses had peeling paint and overgrown landscaping. Decades ago, the south shore of Blackwater Bay had attracted the rich and famous of King’s Landing, but air travel had made weekends in Dorne or the Arbor far more enticing.

Jaime finally spotted the right house, turned down the long gravel drive, and cursed loudly. 

A dusty little blue compact car sat in front of the large, ramshackle house. The car’s faded Evenfall Lacrosse bumper sticker left no doubt as to who owned it. Brienne Tarth, public defender and since Friday the bane of Jaime’s existence, had every right to question witnesses, but they’d agreed to meet here on Monday. 

Earlier in the week, Brienne would have listened to him. Despite being on opposite sides professionally, they had become friends in the months since she’d joined the public defender’s office. Brienne already knew Tyrion from law school, so the three of them often hung out together on Friday nights, commiserating about work and watching sports in their favorite bar. 

At first, Jaime had resisted his brother’s suggestion that they all meet up after work. Why should he bother? Brienne was just the big, quiet public defender who shuffled through Dragon Gate station to talk to one lowlife client after another. 

Then Jaime had testified in one of her trials. 

In the courtroom, Brienne wasn’t at all shy. Her style of questioning was blunt and brutal, and she usually got what she needed. She was stubborn when she thought she was right (always), and she could hold her own, not just with Jaime but the other cops as well. Only a few days earlier, Jaime had watched Brienne verbally dress down Officer Hyle Hunt, who propositioned her every time she came into the station. When Hunt still didn’t take the hint, Brienne had punched him in the kidneys. It had been the highlight of Jaime’s week.

Brienne had spent a lot of time at the station a lot lately, ever since she’d been assigned to defend Tyrion’s former bodyguard, the last man who’d seen Shae before she disappeared. Even Tyrion, who had initially believed Bronn’s story, thought the bodyguard was guilty. 

Bronn had a long criminal record, but Brienne insisted he hadn’t murdered and disposed of Tyrion’s girlfriend. Jaime used to admire her tenacity, misplaced though it was, until she’d come to his office Friday. 

That visit had turned Brienne from a friend into a threat. Not only had she insisted that Bronn was innocent, she had theorized that Shae’s disappearance was part of a larger conspiracy, and she’d pointed the finger of blame at Jaime’s sister. 

Cersei craved power, but she was no killer. Jaime was certain of that. His word hadn’t been enough for Brienne, who had accused him of protecting his sister. She might as well have just called him a dirty cop and been done with it. Between the Targaryen raid and his family’s questionable business dealings, plenty of people had said it behind Jaime’s back. 

Brienne’s opinion shouldn’t matter to him. She was just a casual friend and a misguided idealist. 

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and Jaime tried to shake off his bad mood. Another detective had interviewed the kid right after Shae had disappeared, but Jaime wanted to cover his bases. Trant wasn’t his best detective by a long shot. It wasn’t out of the question he’d missed something important. 

The doorbell was hanging from frayed wires, so Jaime opted to knock. 

After nearly a full minute had passed, a dark-haired woman opened the door, staring at him in frank appreciation. “That big lady said you might turn up. She did not say you looked like an underwear model.”

Jaime bit his lower lip and offered her the slight smirk which usually made women eager to do whatever he asked. The first time Addam had seen Jaime do this, he’d whistled under his breath and asked whether Jaime used his powers for good or evil. Jaime had only laughed. He wasn’t above a little flirting to get what he needed: information, faster forensics results, or a table in a crowded restaurant.

The woman pointed down the hall, and Jaime made his way to a cramped living room. Piles of books and shopping bags covered a sagging couch, and two cats lounged atop the discolored cushions. A thin young man with dark hair sat on the coffee table: Podrick, Tyrion’s assistant. Tired of the press hounding him, the kid was spending time with relatives. 

Brienne perched on a nearby ottoman. Her stunning blue eyes narrowed as she caught sight of Jaime. He didn’t bother trying the lip-biting trick on Brienne. The one time he’d done it around her, Brienne had just arched an eyebrow and laughed.

“Sweetheart, I thought we agreed to talk to the kid together,” Jaime chided. He’d actually shouted that the kid was off limits until Monday just as Brienne had slammed his office door behind her.

Brienne shot him a contemptuous glare and held up her phone. “Funny, I don’t have any messages from you, Detective, yet here you are.”

She must still be furious, if he was “Detective” again. Jaime shrugged, teeth bared in a grin. “Don’t let me interrupt. You know I love to watch you work.” 

Brienne dropped her legal pad into her attaché case. “I have what I need. Podrick has been very helpful.” She stood and pushed past Jaime, deliberately bumping his shoulder as she passed him.  

Jaime waited until he heard the front door close behind her then trained his most reassuring smile on Podrick. “I hope you don’t mind answering a few more questions."

 

* * *

Olenna Tyrell held up her glass with one heavily bejeweled hand. “To Joffrey and Margaery. May the Seven give them everything they deserve.” She tapped her glass against Margaery’s and took a dainty sip of wine.

Joffrey rolled his eyes before he clinked glasses with his beautiful bride. 

Margaery really did look stunning, Sansa noted. She ought to. Margaery had had enough practice at playing bride. She’d married Renly barely a year ago, after all. 

Joffrey would look quite handsome with his sharp suit and perfectly styled platinum blonde hair if not for his ever-present sneer. Joff glanced down the head table, past his bride, his sister Myrcella, and two Tyrell cousins, openly ogling Sansa’s breasts. She hastily adjusted her low-cut bridesmaid gown, and Joffrey winked at her. 

Sansa shuddered as Joffrey turned away and drank his entire glass in one long swallow. Tyrion took Sansa’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. 

Sansa offered Tyrion a quick smile. She still didn’t really trust him, but their sham of an engagement had at least gotten Joffrey to leave her alone. It also made Tyrion look suspiciously callous about his on again, off again girlfriend’s disappearance, as evidenced by the constant voicemail messages from the scary blonde public defender whom Sansa had once mistaken for a man. Brienne Tarth swore she just wanted to talk, but Loras had warned Sansa not to trust the woman who’d let Renly die.

An odd noise further down the table caught Sansa’s attention, and Tyrion dropped her hand as he hurried to climb off his chair.

Joffrey was choking. He sputtered, fingers scrabbling madly at his throat, eyes bulging. Loras thumped the groom on the back, perhaps thinking he’d choked on the slice of cake in front of him. In his panic, Joffrey elbowed Loras in the stomach, pushing him away. 

Margaery was sobbing, hands fluttering without knowing what to do. Her grandmother pulled the bride away as Joffrey collapsed to the floor. The other girls huddled around Margaery, while Joffrey’s brother Tommen bolted from the table. 

Sansa stood, backing away in horror as Joffrey continued to scratch at his own throat, his face red and growing darker. As often as she’d secretly wished he would have some sort of accident, it was horrifying to watch it happen only a few feet away. 

Tyrion approached his nephew just as Cersei reached her son. She begged Joffrey to breathe as she cradled him in her arms. 

Joffrey did not breathe, his face purple and his legs kicking out against the table leg. The table pitched forward, scattering food, wine, and flowers across the floor and exposing the twitching groom to his guests. 

They all saw when Joffrey turned and pointed at Tyrion just before convulsions wracked the younger man’s body. His mother screamed.

As a clamor of voices filled the ballroom, a hand seized Sansa’s elbow. “Miss Stark,” an urgent voice whispered in her ear.

Sansa instinctively wrenched out of his grasp, whipping around and catching her elaborate necklace on the branch of a decorative tree behind the table. Purple crystals scattered on the floor.

She recognized the cringing man. “Dontos?” she asked, confused. Why was he wearing a waiter’s tuxedo? Dontos Hollard was the terrible magician who had provided entertainment at the Casterly Rock corporate holiday party months ago. Joffrey had poured a bottle of wine on the man and threatened to set him on fire. Sansa had finally managed to break her engagement to Joffrey not long after that.

“We must go,” Dontos whispered urgently. 

“Why?” Sansa asked, the chaos around her too much to take in.

“They will suspect you had something to do with this.” 

Many people disliked Joffrey, but Sansa loathed him. She suspected that he’d ordered the hit on her father and she didn’t trust the police at the Twins—all of them Freys and likely on the Lannister payroll—who insisted that her brother and sister-in-law’s fatal car crash had been accidental. 

Sansa glanced back just in time to see Joffrey’s convulsions stop suddenly. 

“No!” Cersei wailed, shaking her son’s limp body. Blood dripped from his mouth and his eyes were blank. 

When Dontos took her arm again, Sansa let him lead her swiftly from the ballroom.

 

* * *

Jaime cursed as traffic along the Kingswood Tollway slowed to a crawl. The road narrowed ahead to accommodate idle construction equipment no one would touch until Monday. 

The sun had set, and judging by the lightning flashing over Blackwater Bay, a storm would roll in soon. Jaime had already missed Joffrey’s farce of a wedding in the Great Sept of Baelor. At this rate, he might miss the entire reception as well. Cersei would be furious, but that was nothing new. Jaime hadn’t done anything right in her eyes in years.

Spotting an exit sign ahead, Jaime flicked on his turn signal. That would be the old Kingsroad. It only had two lanes, but at least it wasn’t under construction. Car after car ignored his signal and refused to let Jaime switch lanes. Finally Jaime gave up and turned on the police flashers he kept in his car for emergencies. He grinned as cars immediately cleared a path for him.

In under a minute, Jaime was cruising along the Kingsroad. The old road skirted the edge of the forest, ancient trees blocking out the lights of the nearby highway and the city across the water. Jaime’s phone vibrated in his pocket. The caller ID showed Detective Addam Marbrand, a childhood friend who had recently joined the KLPD from Ashemark. 

Jaime had asked Addam to provide security at the wedding. Normally off-duty uniforms would be sufficient, but the entire city was on edge with the mayoral election just weeks away. In the last year, District Attorney Ned Stark had been shot and killed, and a backpack bomb had exploded at the Blackwater Hotel during a political debate. With nearly every major player in King’s Landing in the ballroom of the Red Keep this evening, Jaime wasn’t taking any chances. 

“Addam, save your lecture, I’m on my way,” Jaime said when he picked up the phone. 

A heavy sigh greeted him amidst crackling static. “You’d … hurry, Jaime.”

Jaime checked his phone. One bar of signal. “Is Tyrion drunk yet? You know how much he loves weddings.” Tyrion had been married once. It hadn’t ended well.

“Joffrey’s … can’t be sure … looks like … Need you here.” Static swallowed most of Addam’s words. 

“Addam, you’re breaking up. I’ll call you back in a few minutes.” Jaime ended the call, dropped the phone onto the passenger seat, and pushed his car over the speed limit. Addam was a capable detective. If he needed backup, Tyrion’s penchant for drunken singing was the least of their problems. 

Ten minutes later Jaime spotted hazard lights flashing in the darkness ahead. The car was parked on the side of the road, its hood up and trunk open. Jaime knew that absurdly tiny car, as well as the ridiculously long legs and toned backside visible as Brienne rummaged in the trunk.

Reluctantly, Jaime pulled over. Brienne straightened up warily, squinting into his headlights, grease smeared on her hands, dirt on her tan slacks. She reached behind her and pulled out a tire iron. 

Jaime got out of the car. “Car trouble, sweetheart?” 

Relief flashed across her face for a moment before suspicion replaced it. “My name is Brienne, not sweetheart. Did you do something to my car, Detective?” 

Jaime almost laughed, the notion was so ludicrous. “Of course not,  _ Brienne _ _._ Did you call a tow truck yet?”

She dropped the tire iron back into the trunk and dug into her pocket, smearing grease on her blazer, and cursed as she pulled out her phone. “No signal.”

Jaime checked his. No signal. He watched Brienne a moment, pondering just how satisfying it would be to leave her here. She might not try to go behind his back again. Or she might file an official complaint. 

Lightning flashed close by, and thunder boomed. Rain began to fall, fat drops promising an imminent heavy shower. Jaime sighed. He couldn’t really leave Brienne here. “Come on. I’ll take you back to the city.” 

Brienne folded her arms across her chest. The rain came down harder, soaking them both within seconds. She gritted her teeth and conceded, “Thank you.” 

Jaime retreated into his car to clear off the passenger seat while Brienne carefully closed her trunk and hood, turned off her hazard lights, and locked her car. Jaime doubted anyone would steal such a nondescript little car. He wasn’t even sure how such a large woman managed to fit into it. 

Brienne dropped gracelessly into the passenger seat and slammed the door. Water dripped from her straw blonde hair and ran down her long neck. She was clutching her attaché case on her lap, her soaked lilac shirt clinging to her skin. Jaime had seen her righteous, angry, triumphant, frustrated, but seeing Brienne vulnerable was new and strangely appealing.

Jaime dragged his gaze back up to her eyes. Deep blue, defiant, and at the moment rather pissed off at him. That brought him back to reality. He smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. “Let’s go.”

The rain fell in waves. Sometimes it rained so hard the windshield wipers couldn’t keep up, and Jaime was forced to slow the car to a crawl just to stay on the road. The silence was oppressive. 

"You couldn't wait to talk to the kid?" 

Brienne stared out her side window. "Neither could you," she muttered. 

"I had a wedding to avoid.”

“And I was avoiding  _ you," _ she snapped, angry but honest. This was familiar territory for them, though their disagreements were usually about petty things: sports and movies, classic cars or the best Braavosi takeout in the city. They’d managed to separate the personal from the professional until now, yet Jaime couldn’t help feeling that she was judging him as a cop and as a man. 

“Great plan,” he said drily, returning his gaze to the narrow swath of light cast by the headlights.

The windshield wipers squeaked rhythmically. Brienne sighed. “Why were you avoiding the wedding?” 

She knew that neither Jaime nor Tyrion got along well with Cersei, since both complained about her, but neither talked much about Joffrey. The less said about him the better. His siblings were nothing like him, from what Jaime had seen. Myrcella had been arrested once, for breaking into her school’s swimming pool late at night with Trystane Martell, but that was kid stuff. She and Tommen seemed like good kids.

A road sign flashed by. Twenty miles to King’s Landing. He might as well just tell her. “My wedding was at the Great Sept. It’s not my favorite place.”

Brienne flinched. “I didn’t know you were married.” 

“I wasn’t,” Jaime conceded. He hadn’t talked about this in years. He hadn’t needed to. It was one of those horrible train-wreck weddings people loved to talk about. “Come on, I’m sure Tyrion told you all about it. It’s a great story if it didn’t happen to you. Star-crossed lovers, rival families, the whole nine yards. On our wedding day, I found out she was my twin sister.”

Jaime snuck a glance at Brienne. Her eyes were wide with shock. Brienne had known his brother since law school, and Tyrion was the one who’d uncovered the truth. Had he really not told her? 

Tyrion, who had grown up watching old home movies of Joanna Lannister and hearing about Aerys Targaryen’s obsession with her, had been the first in nearly twenty years to look at Cersei and wonder why she looked so much like the Lannisters. Joanna and Aerys’s wife, Rhaella, had delivered babies on the same day at Blessed Mother Hospital. When Rhaella’s daughter died in her sleep the first night, Aerys had snuck into Joanna’s room and switched the babies. 

“I’m so sorry,” Brienne breathed. She sounded sincere, but Jaime had heard that so many times it had lost all meaning. 

He considered making a joke or saying something cruel, but he just nodded. It had been a dark period for both brothers: Jaime by turns furious and anguished, and shortly after, Tyrion’s own brief marriage had ended badly. Jaime had left town and tried to start over in a new city. It hadn’t worked. By the time he came back, Cersei was married and had two children. Jaime had tried to forge a more familial relationship with Cersei, but that was a joke.

They rode in silence for several minutes before Brienne spoke. “If you could drop me off at my place, I’d appreciate it.”

“Where do you live?” In all the evenings they’d spent together, Brienne had never mentioned where she lived. 

“Cobbler’s Square.”

Jaime shook his head. “Sorry, I have to go straight to the Red Keep.” Marbrand rarely called for backup, so Jaime was inclined to assume something unpleasant had happened. If he was lucky, it was just a minor scuffle or Tyrion giving his “god of tits and wine” speech again.

Jaime glanced at Brienne’s disheveled clothes and wet hair. Jaime had a clean suit in a garment bag on the backseat, but Brienne wasn’t so lucky. “You’re underdressed, but you’ll have to come with me.”

Brienne frowned and picked at her damp blouse. “I’m not going to a wedding dressed like this.” 

Jaime smiled grimly. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. No one will be looking at—”

Lightning flashed, momentarily blinding him, and thunder clapped so loudly Jaime’s ears rang. A huge tree slammed down across the road directly in front of them. Jaime hit the brakes, tires squealing as they skidded across the wet pavement.  

Metal shrieked, pain lanced through Jaime’s head, and the world went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next week: Quite possibly the first Addam Marbrand POV on AO3.


	2. Truth Conquers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne deal with the aftermath of the car accident while Addam interviews witnesses at the Red Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title borrowed from the words of House Swygert.

“Damn it, Jaime, where are you? The natives are getting restless, and there are only so many people I can interview at once. Don’t make me call in Trant.” Detective Addam Marbrand sighed and pushed his phone back into his pocket, retrieving his pen from behind his ear. 

The KLPD’s chief of detectives was now three hours late returning from Kingswood Shores, and Addam was way out of his depth running the investigation without him. Addam had only been in King’s Landing for two months. He knew his fellow detectives well enough, but he trusted very few of them. Jaime knew how to get the best work from them, and he was well acquainted with the rich and important guests at this wedding. Addam felt like he was walking through a minefield as he questioned those who had watched Joffrey Baratheon die.

Addam prayed fervently that Jaime would arrive soon as he approached his next witness. “Mr. Martell, would you mind answering a few questions?”

Oberyn Martell turned to Addam. His raven-haired companion rose to stand at his side, her hand resting protectively on Martell’s arm. Martell’s gold dress shirt was open several buttons more than was fashionable in King’s Landing, and the woman wore a vividly patterned gown with a deep red bodice so sheer Addam was almost certain he could see her nipples through the fabric. 

“Not at all,” Martell said smoothly. He smiled, teeth flashing and a predatory gleam in his eye. He turned to his companion. “Ellaria, have we ever been with a ginger?”

Ellaria shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. Kissed by fire,” she mused. “Tell me, Detective, are you a fiery man?” 

“My ex-wife didn’t think so.” Addam cleared his throat, averting his eyes to jot down their names in his notebook. “What brought you to the wedding this evening, Mr. Martell and Miss...?” 

“Sand,” Martell supplied. “The Lannisters are business associates.”

Criminal business associates, Addam thought but was smart enough not to say. Pia, the coroner’s assistant had taken Addam aside to tell him poisoning was a strong possibility. Addam needed to tread lightly. Oberyn Martell’s enemies often died by poisoning. “Mr. Martell, where were you just before Mr. Baratheon died?” 

Martell shared a lascivious glance with his companion. “In the restroom.”

“And you, Miss Sand?”

She winked at Addam. “Also in the restroom.”

Martell smirked. “The party was dull.”

Of course, there were no security cameras in the restrooms, though Addam’s brain helpfully conjured a vivid scenario of their activities. Two uniformed officers had already confirmed there was no security camera footage of the head table either, but they were combing through all the other footage. There were a lot of cameras, it could take hours or days to review it all. Addam was sure the corridor outside the restrooms was under surveillance. 

Until Addam could eliminate Martell as a suspect, there was history he had to address. “Mr. Martell, you accused Tywin Lannister years ago of ordering the home invasion which resulted in the deaths of your sister and her children. Why shouldn’t I assume you killed Joffrey Baratheon as payback?”

Martell leaned closer, his dark eyes glittering, his voice low and menacing. “If I wanted to pay back Tywin Lannister, this ballroom would be littered with bodies. His sons, his daughter, his grandchildren. All of them.” 

Ellaria rubbed her hand down his arm, and Martell relaxed, turning his head to watch Tywin Lannister across the ballroom. Lannister was speaking urgently into his phone while his daughter sat beside him, her tear-streaked face utterly vacant, clutching her other son’s hand. Myrcella sat with them, sobbing quietly, staring at her brother’s body as if she couldn’t look away. Varys, the Lannisters’ head of security, stood unobtrusively nearby, watching the crowd with an almost bored expression.

“Poisoning at a wedding. How neatly that pushes me to the top of your suspect list,” Martell pointed out. “Really, Detective, would I be so sloppy after all these years?” 

The same thought had already occurred to Addam. “I may have more questions for you later. Don’t go anywhere,” he said out of habit.

Ellaria laughed. “The doors are locked, Detective. Where would we go?” 

Addam excused himself and scanned the room again. Ellaria’s words were niggling at him. There was something wrong here, not just the body by the wreckage of the head table. Pia had carefully wrapped Joffrey’s hands in bags to protect any evidence. Tiny markers surrounded the corpse, noting the position of cutlery, shattered plates, flowers, and glasses, all carefully collected on the off chance a fingerprint or other trace evidence lingered on one of them. 

Addam’s gaze followed the line of vacated chairs, noting a single discarded bouquet at one end of the table. Sansa Stark had been seated there. He hadn’t spoken to her yet.

Addam looked around, found Sansa’s fiance, Tyrion Lannister, and her friend Margaery, the bride, who was sobbing surrounded by her cousins. So where was Sansa?  

 

* * *

Brienne gasped in pain as she woke. Her chest felt tight and her head was pounding. She tried to move, and an unfamiliar crinkling sound made her open her eyes. A partially-deflated airbag filled the space in front of her, and a fine white powder dusted her lap and chest. 

The hood of the car was crumpled against the fallen tree. Hands shaking, Brienne unfastened her seatbelt. Immediately the pressure on her chest eased. She turned her head, vision momentarily blurring and pain seizing her skull in a vise. The scents of ozone and charred wood hung in the air, and rain drummed steadily on the roof.

Jaime was slumped unconscious against his deflated airbag. His side window was webbed with cracks.

“Jaime.” He didn’t stir. “Jaime, wake up.” Brienne gently shook his shoulder.

He groaned, green eyes fluttering open. She’d always liked his eyes. It was his mouth that got him in trouble. 

“You called me Jaime,” he said, the triumph in his voice undercut by how weak he sounded. 

Brienne snorted. “Detective” kept Jaime and his stupid smirk at a safe distance. “Don’t make me regret it. Are you okay?”

Jaime straightened up slowly, wincing. A dark, wet smear marked the white airbag. “What the…” he muttered, touching his face gingerly. 

“Look at me,” Brienne demanded, startled by the fear surging through her.  

Sticky blood covered the left side of Jaime’s face. For an instant, green eyes turned blue, golden hair darkened to black. Renly’s face, smeared with black soot and blood, eyes vacant. No, Jaime’s eyes were glassy, but they watched Brienne with concern. 

Brienne leaned closer, cursing how little she could see in the dark, and touched his cheek and temple gingerly. Her fingertips brushed against a shallow cut.

Jaime jerked back, hissing in pain. He shook his head as he took in the wrecked car, the massive tree blocking the road. “I should call in. Highway Patrol can send a tow truck.”

Brienne rummaged under the passenger airbag, hoping to find a first aid kit in the glove box. Jaime wasn’t in any danger, but she’d feel better if she could bandage his wound or at least clean it. 

Jaime unbuckled his seatbelt, pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. The light from the screen illuminated his bloodied face gruesomely. He frowned. “No signal. How about yours?”

Brienne checked her phone. The screen was shattered. She showed it to Jaime, and shoved it back in her pocket. Needing to do something, she found a wad of clean napkins and a water bottle in the center console. Holding Jaime’s stubbly chin with one hand, Brienne wiped the blood from his face with dampened napkins. 

Jaime glanced at the back seat. “At least I’ve still got my bag.”

Brienne followed his gaze to a garment bag hanging from a seatbelt. “What could possibly be so important?” 

“My suit,” Jaime said as if it were obvious. “If I show up bloody, Cersei will have my head.”

Jaime was bleeding and may have a concussion. Surely his sister wouldn’t care about the state of his clothes, much less expect him to attend the wedding after this. “You’re hurt. She’ll understand.”

Jaime barked a laugh. “You don’t know her.”

Brienne knew better than to respond to that. She and Jaime had been at odds lately over her defense of Bronn, but neither of them had taken any of it personally until the previous day.  Brienne had found witnesses who talked about a woman with long, blonde hair working behind the scenes to undermine the Baratheons and the Starks. It had to be Cersei Lannister. 

Jaime had dismissed her evidence. When Brienne had pressed him to do his job, Jaime had suddenly become as cold and unyielding as a castle wall. Finally she’d snapped and accused him of protecting his sister. She had never seen Jaime so angry before, never wondered if he was the kind of man who used his fists when words failed. Finally Brienne had stormed out of his office, near tears but unwilling to give Jaime the satisfaction of making her cry. 

It had been easy to walk away, to slam doors when he’d called her a naive child, sneered that she probably believed in krakens and unicorns too. It was harder to stay angry when Jaime was so close and staring at her so intently. Brienne wet another napkin, dabbed at his temple, avoiding his gaze. 

“She was a mob princess,” he said suddenly, a wholly unfamiliar tremor in his voice. “Cersei Targaryen. I killed the man who raised her.”

Brienne’s hands stilled. The Targaryen crime family had been snuffed out virtually overnight years ago, leaving a void the Martells and Greyjoys had allegedly filled. Brienne remembered only mugshots of brutal looking men with dragons tattooed on their arms. 

Jaime’s eyes locked with hers. “It was only a few months after we broke off our engagement. The Targaryens used a coffee import business as a front. We got a tip about drugs in their warehouse. When we raided the place, I caught Aerys flicking lit matches at a man doused with gasoline. I shot him. Cersei has never forgiven me.”

“You did your job,” Brienne insisted. Jaime didn’t reply. She wished he did have something sarcastic to say. Sincerity was unsettling from Jaime Lannister. 

She checked his face one last time for any remaining blood, then let him go. Jaime might need a few stitches, and he would probably have a scar, but with his luck he’d look even sexier that way. 

Brienne swallowed hard. Jaime was infuriating, often rude, and definitely obstructing her investigation. With his history, it was no surprise he’d grown so cynical. That he was also the most attractive man she’d ever met and far too close at the moment was irrelevant. Brienne scooted back against the door, putting a few more inches between them. 

Jaime frowned, his gaze roaming over her. “You’re hurt.” He pushed aside the collar of her shirt, his warm fingertips a shock against her cool skin. 

Brienne shivered at the contact, glanced down and saw the red abrasion running from her left shoulder and across her right breast, where the seatbelt had caught and held her. “That’s nothing.” She brushed Jaime’s hand away. 

It had been too long since any man had touched her. Brienne had learned the hard way to be wary of men, especially men so clearly out of her league. Back in college, one of the fraternities had challenged its pledges to take her virginity as part of a hazing ritual. She’d never really believed those boys were truly interested, but it had still hurt.

Since then, Brienne had been careful to keep her relationships with men tightly controlled. Professors, classmates, friends, colleagues. Everyone fit neatly into a box, until Tyrion had introduced her to Jaime. Brienne had tried to keep their interactions confined to work, but then she couldn’t have spent much time with Tyrion. In time Jaime had become a friend, but the way he was looking at her now wasn’t particularly friendly.  

Jaime’s hand slipped up to her neck, his thumb just below her ear. “You have the most beautiful eyes,” he murmured, leaning in so close she could see flecks of gold in his green eyes. 

A sudden  _ thump!  _ startled them both. 

A man in a yellow rain slicker shone a flashlight in Jaime’s window. “You folks okay?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the rain pounding on the roof of the car.

Jaime tried to roll down his window, but it wouldn’t move. He opened his door, and the man stepped into the opening. “I think so. Can’t say the same for the car, though,” Jaime said with a quick glance at Brienne.

The man’s slicker bore the logo of the Crownlands Highway Patrol. He held out a hand to Jaime. “Sergeant Creighton Longbough.”

Jaime shook Longbough’s hand. “Detective Jaime Lannister, KLPD. We’re glad to see you, Sergeant. Our phones aren’t working.”

Sergeant Longbough laughed. “No, they wouldn’t. The Kingswood is a forest preserve. No cell towers. You’re lucky, Detective. Your dispatcher asked us to keep an eye out for you tonight. Didn’t mention you had a lady with you.” He looked Brienne over with interest.

Brienne blushed furiously at the amusement in his tone, wondering just what the man had seen. She wasn’t sure herself. Jaime Lannister could not possibly have been about to kiss her. 

"I’m not sure why Blount bothered, but we appreciate the assist." Jaime got out of the car and opened the back door to retrieve his garment bag. Still focused on avoiding his sister’s wrath. 

"He said you were needed at the Red Keep ASAP."

"Any idea why?" Brienne asked, eager for a distraction from Jaime and the confusing mix of irritation and attraction she now felt when she looked at him. She followed Jaime and Longbough to the highway patrol car.

Longbough frowned. "Homicide investigation."

The chill that ran down Brienne’s spine had nothing to do with the cold, wet night. Jaime hadn’t been convinced by her arguments the previous day, but Brienne was certain that something sinister was happening in King’s Landing. In just the past year, four members of important families had died under suspicious circumstances: shot on the steps of the courthouse, car accident, hunting accident, house fire. Brienne had witnessed the fire, risked her life to pull Renly Baratheon from the flames, but the smoke had already killed him. 

Surely if someone were killed at his nephew’s wedding, Jaime would have to believe her? Five deaths in just under a year was no coincidence.

Ten minutes later, as they rode in the back of the patrol car, Jaime finally reached one of his detectives by phone. She watched the light go out of his eyes as he listened, replied in monosyllables, then asked that the coroner leave the body in place until he arrived. 

When Jaime shoved the phone back into his pocket, Brienne simply waited. “It was Joffrey,” he said softly. 

Brienne took his hand, completely at a loss for anything to say. Jaime’s nephew was objectively a terrible human being, petulant and cruel with a sense of entitlement rivalled only by his grandfather’s. Tyrion had gotten drunk one night and told her more about Joffrey than she’d ever wanted to know. But Joffrey had still been a young man killed at his own wedding. 

Joffrey’s murder destroyed her theory. Brienne wouldn’t put it past Cersei to murder her husband, or at least pay someone else to do it. Robert Baratheon’s hunting accident had always seemed too convenient. But even Cersei wouldn’t kill her own child in front of hundreds of witnesses. Would she? 

They rode the rest of the way to the Red Keep in silence.

 

* * *

Addam Marbrand had come to King’s Landing in search of more interesting cases, and fewer night shifts spent arresting kids for tipping cows. At least that’s what he’d told Jaime when he applied. The truth was more embarrassing. Addam had been caught driving past his ex-wife’s house one too many times, and his chief had strongly suggested he seek work elsewhere.

Standing in front of Margaery Tyrell, still stunning in her intricately embroidered white gown, Addam desperately wished he’d taken the job in White Harbor instead. 

The bride dabbed her red eyes with a white cloth napkin in a vain effort to remove her smeared makeup. Her grandmother was anchored to her side, assuring her repeatedly that everything was going to be all right. 

“All right? I’ve lost two husbands in a year,” Margaery wailed.

Olenna Tyrell sighed and looked up pointedly at Addam. “Can this wait, Detective? My granddaughter is distraught.”

Addam smiled apologetically. “I really do need to ask her a few questions. If she can think of anyone who would want to hurt Joffrey…”

_"If_ she can think of anyone?” Mrs. Tyrell cut him off. “Look around you. One hundred and seventy-six guests in this room… and the only ones crying are my granddaughter and the boy’s mother. Oberyn Martell swore vengeance on the Lannisters years ago, Sansa Stark is still bitter that Joffrey dumped her, Tyrion Lannister has always hated his nephew. Stannis Baratheon isn't even here because he's angry Robert left his shares to Joffrey."

Addam struggled to form a reply. He knew all of that, of course, but the Tyrell matriarch was on a roll. Addam suspected that interrupting her might be hazardous to his health.

Mrs. Tyrell’s eyes narrowed. "Why are  _ you  _ here? Where is the other Lannister boy? Jaime."

Addam colored. "On his way, ma'am."

Mrs. Tyrell nodded curtly. "Where are you from? That accent isn't King's Landing or the Reach."

Addam shook his head. "Ashemark, Mrs. Tyrell."

"Might be best to return there, Detective," she said tartly then turned her back on him.  

Addam didn't need to be told he'd been dismissed. He scanned the room for Tyrion and Sansa. Tyrion sat alone near the bar, contemplating a glass of deep red wine. Addam joined him, waited patiently for Jaime’s brother to speak. 

Addam and Jaime had known each other since prep school at Crakehall. Addam and Tyrion weren’t close, but they’d known each other casually since Tyrion had been a small child. Just well enough to make this conversation extremely awkward.

“Olenna Tyrell thinks you killed Joffrey,” Addam said evenly. 

Tyrion snorted and took a long swig from his glass. “She would. She thinks she knows everything, yet she put her family’s business interests ahead of her granddaughter’s welfare.” Tyrion caught the questioning look Addam shot him. “Renly was gay. Marrying Margaery looked good to voters and the press, but everyone who knew them knew he was really with Loras. But Joffrey… Olenna should have known what a monster he was. She only had to ask Sansa.”

Addam flinched. Even with his body still lying on the floor nearby, no one in this room had a kind word to say about Joffrey. Addam liked Tyrion, but the fact was he’d always been hot-tempered. Addam’s handcuffs lay heavy against his hip in his jacket pocket. “Did you do it for Sansa?”

Tyrion’s disappointed eyes and sardonic smile gave Addam all the answer he needed. “Joffrey was a classic abuser. I helped her get away from him, but I’m not stupid. Do you really think my father would let me live if I killed a Lannister?”

“Tyrion, you’re a Lannister,” Addam felt compelled to point out.

Tyrion stood stiffly. “Father keeps me around for appearances’ sake, and because I can be useful. The moment I’m not, he’ll dispose of me.” 

Addam stood as Tyrion walked away, uncertain whom to talk to next. He still hadn’t seen Sansa. He’d sent uniformed officers to search the first floor of the venue, and they had found several guests getting sick in the restrooms, worried that they’d all been poisoned. 

Addam opted to walk among the tables closest to the head table, jotting down the names on the seating cards. Perhaps one of those guests had seen something without realizing it. He’d reached the far wall when Addam sensed someone standing behind him.

The detective turned. “Mr. Varys,” Addam acknowledged him. 

“Detective, may we have a word?” Varys answered obsequiously. The man was plump and bald, his face lightly powdered. He might have been 40 or 60. Varys wore a perfectly tailored deep plum suit with a vivid orange shirt and a flamboyantly patterned floral tie. The overall effect struck Addam as better suited to a game-show host than a security expert. 

“Of course.” Addam realized as he wrote the man’s name in his notebook that he had no idea if Varys was a first name or a family name. Jaime would know. 

Varys turned his gaze on the head table, specifically the spot where Sansa’s bouquet still lay. “Not much surprises me, Detective. I never thought she would actually do it.”

“Do what?” Addam asked cautiously.

“Kill him.” Varys turned back to Addam. “It was an unpleasant relationship, everyone could see that. And there was that unfortunate business with her father and brother dying. Miss Stark blamed Mr. Baratheon, you see. He certainly didn’t mourn them, in fact he enjoyed taunting her about it.”

“I’ve heard all this before, Mr. Varys,” Addam pointed out.

Varys shrugged. “I might dismiss Miss Stark as a suspect if I were you too. But I’m not you. That girl has nothing left to lose. Her mother ran off with a vigilante group in the Riverlands, her sister’s run away, and her brothers are safe, tucked away at school in the North.” 

Varys leaned closer, a faint aroma of lilacs wafting around him, and added quietly, “She almost killed him once before. Not long after Ned Stark’s death, Miss Stark and Mr. Baratheon toured this very venue to book it for their own nuptials. Mr. Baratheon insisted on going out on the battlements. I was along to check security. I watched Sansa Stark walk up behind him with her arms out to push him. If not for the Hound pulling her back, Mr. Baratheon would have fallen to his death months ago.” 

_ Question the Hound, _ Addam wrote in his notebook. Sandor Clegane, once Joffrey’s loyal bodyguard, had abruptly quit months ago, abandoning his Lannister-owned apartment. 

“We will follow every viable lead until this case is solved, Mr. Varys. You can count on that,” Addam told the man, trying to project confidence he didn’t feel. People in the midst of a tragedy needed that from the police. They needed to know the crime would be solved, the victims avenged, punishment delivered. 

The effort was wasted on Varys, who simply nodded and went back to his post at Tywin Lannister’s side.

The Lannisters would have Addam believe Sansa capable of murder. Poison was most often a woman’s weapon. Assuming poison had been used, Qyburn had been quite sure of himself. When it came to cause of death, the coroner was rarely wrong in Addam’s short experience.

The detective rubbed his tired eyes. He’d put off speaking to Cersei Lannister-Baratheon as long as he could, but it was time. She was alone now. Addam scanned the room, noted Myrcella Baratheon hanging onto one of the younger Martells, while Tommen sat nearby methodically eating a vast slice of cake. 

Addam crossed the room and took a seat beside the grieving mother.  

Cersei looked up from the half-empty wine glass in her hand. Her red-rimmed eyes fixed on Addam’s, her face twisted in a sneer. “What are you doing?” she asked in a tone which indicated Addam was clearly the stupidest person she had ever encountered.

“Interviewing witnesses, Mrs. Baratheon,” he stammered. Cersei was beautiful, he’d always thought so, in the same way any predator was. Lovely until they opened their jaws to strike. 

Cersei rolled her eyes. “You’re wasting time,” she hissed. “Everyone in this room knows who did it. You should be arresting Tyrion, not chatting with him.”

“What makes you say that?” Cersei wasn’t fond of her younger brother, but her certainty surprised Addam. If anyone, Oberyn Martell was the most obvious suspect, but he was by no means the only one. 

Cersei leaned in, and Addam had to press one hand against the table to stop himself from backing away. Did she know her gown was flecked with wine and blood? “Tyrion’s first act was to murder his own mother. Do you really think he’d balk at murdering his nephew?”

“He was a baby, Cersei.” The instant the rebuke left his lips, Addam knew it was mistake. 

Cersei’s eyes flashed. “A deformed monster who should have died in her place,” she snarled. Addam could smell the wine on her breath now. “Tyrion has always been jealous of Joff. He made terrible threats, he  _ struck  _ my son. Tyrion wants to be Joffrey so badly he traded his latest whore for that gold-digging little bitch Sansa.” 

Joffrey’s behavior was no secret, yet Cersei seemed blind to his true nature. Addam took refuge in procedure, hoping it would calm her. “Mrs. Baratheon, we’re following protocol here. I have to talk to everyone, get witness statements while memories are still fresh and evidence hasn’t been removed from the scene. You wouldn’t want us to make a hasty arrest and have the case fall apart at trial.”

Cersei blanched, recovered swiftly. “Jaime will listen to me when he gets here.” 

Addam let out a shaky breath once he’d retreated from Cersei’s table. Many of the guests were clustered at the far end of the room, as far as possible from the corpse still lying in the middle of the room. Dr. Qyburn was eager to remove the body, and Addam couldn’t blame him. Even Addam, an old hand at homicide scenes by now, found it unnerving to have the corpse there, a gross parody of the old seven-day vigils. Addam, for one, certainly felt like he’d been in this room for at least a week.

The highway patrol had picked up Jaime half an hour ago. As far as Addam was concerned, he couldn’t get there soon enough. 

 

* * *

"Do I have you to thank for this evening's entertainment?"

Tyrion finished his text to Sansa. The girl was likely in a restroom avoiding the police until she could answer questions without getting hysterical or vomiting, but he wished she would respond to his texts. Sansa had to know by now that he wasn’t her enemy. 

When Tyrion looked up from his phone, Oberyn Martell was eyeing him shrewdly. "I should ask you the same question."

Oberyn smiled with genuine mirth. "I tend to favor less spectacle. Though I must congratulate whoever arranged this.” He gestured at the body on the floor. “It was most satisfying."

Tyrion made a noncommittal grunt. The coroner and his assistant were packing up their gear and a forensics tech had tagged, photographed, and collected all the evidence. The corpse was shrouded, but that hardly made a difference. Tyrion’s father would never admit it, but the Lannisters were better off without Joffrey. He had been a loose cannon. Sooner or later, he would have done something that couldn’t be covered up.

"Come now, Tyrion. I know we share a certain enthusiasm for dead Lannisters." The smirk on Oberyn’s lips didn’t reach his eyes. Martell was Tywin Lannister’s match when it came to protecting his family and paying his debts. Even now, Oberyn kept glancing at his nephew Trystane, who’d come to the wedding as Myrcella’s date. Neither family was especially happy about the match.

Over the years, Tyrion had entertained gruesome fantasies about his father, his nephew, his sister, even his brother during one particularly dark period. "I get my revenge in the courtroom, Martell, not like this.” He loved the courtroom. It was the one place where his wits trumped his stature.

Oberyn gave him a patronizing look. “You think you have no blood on your hands? You don’t have to kill someone to destroy them.”

Tyrion conceded the point with a nod. The Lannisters were masters at destroying a person yet letting them live. Tyrion’s wife had been a prime example. Tyrion had hired Tysha to strip at Jaime’s bachelor party. Jaime hadn’t been even remotely interested, so Tysha hadn’t taken off a single piece of clothing, and she and Tyrion had talked for hours. Their impulsive union had lasted a few weeks before Tywin found out. Tyrion’s father had had the marriage annulled and sent photos of Tysha stripping at a professor’s bachelor party to the UKL newspaper to get her expelled. She’d vanished in a matter of days. Tyrion still wondered where she’d gone. His father would know, and someday Tyrion would find the courage to ask him.

Oberyn sighed. “Our families have mutual business interests. I’d rather deal with you than your sister. If you need help with this … mess, you know how to reach me.”

The Dornishman was certainly more of a kindred spirit than the rest of Tyrion’s relatives. A passionate man in all respects, if less restrained than Tyrion in indulging his appetites. Tyrion was on good terms with his brother, but Jaime could never really understand him. They’d been estranged for several years after their respective aborted marriages, and had never gotten as close as before. Tyrion had found a way to play the long game, while Jaime had removed himself from the board. 

A murmur ran through the crowd. Tyrion scanned the room, hoping to see Addam Marbrand making an arrest.

He saw the next best thing. Jaime stood at the far end of the ballroom with a rather bedraggled-looking Brienne Tarth. Jaime leaned in close to speak in Brienne’s ear before moving off to talk to Addam. 

Jaime had been talking about Brienne so much lately that Tyrion wondered if something was going on between them. His brother didn’t usually let anyone get under his skin the way she did. Tyrion resolved to talk to Brienne if he was still a free man at the end of the evening. If he wasn’t, they would be preoccupied planning his defense.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Targaryen coffee business is inspired by _General Hospital_ 's Sonny Corinthos, a mobster who appeared in the early 90s and slowly took over the entire show. 
> 
> Next week: Jaime joins the investigation, and the evidence mounts.


	3. Righteous in Wrath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of discoveries advance the investigation, Jaime makes a decision, and the killer is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title provided by the house words of House Hornwood.

Jaime watched as Pia and Dr. Qyburn loaded Joffrey’s corpse into a body bag. The young man’s eyes were mercifully closed, but burst blood vessels speckled his cheeks and a smear of blood coated his lips. According to Qyburn, Joffrey had bitten his tongue. 

Jaime should have felt  _ something  _ looking at his sister’s dead child. He knew that was expected, normal, but for him it was no different than any other crime scene. Jaime had never been close to Cersei’s children. Sometimes he felt like the kids had walked out of the living room at Casterly Rock as cherubic toddlers one day and returned as teenagers already dating and driving. 

Jaime only half listened as Addam Marbrand shared what he’d learned so far. Jaime had no love for his cold, calculating nephew, but Joffrey’s death would destroy Cersei. Tywin would sack the city to find the man who’d killed his grandson, and never feel a moment’s guilt about it. Jaime needed to solve this case as quickly as possible or the city would suffer the Lannisters’ wrath. 

“... two unaccounted for. Sansa Stark and one of the wait staff,” Addam said as the body bag was wheeled out on a gurney. “I think we should put out an APB on both of them.”

“You think Sansa did it?” Jaime asked, raking a hand through his hair. He winced as his fingers brushed his bandaged temple.

Addam shrugged. “She had motive and she was at the head table.” He looked exhausted and tense, that combination unique to cops working a scene. The clock was ticking, and they both knew it. Jaime had had to dodge the press to even get into the building. 

The ballroom was exactly as Jaime had expected: decorated lavishly, no expense spared. Shimmering gold cloth was draped across the ceilings, with unobtrusive spotlights artfully illuminating sparkling crystal chandeliers. Every table held a massive centerpiece of twisted branches wrapped in tiny sparkling lights and crystals. Masses of cream and crimson roses clustered around the bar, the heavily-laden gifts tables, and the cake table. The cake itself was seven layers intricately decorated with stag’s horns, crowns, golden lions, thorny vines with delicate leaves, and Myrish lace, and was topped by handmade, edible blood-red roses. The layers had been partially cut and served, a short ceremonial sword smeared with frosting left among the uneaten slices. 

It all screamed of Cersei’s taste and influence, but the impeccable scene was ruined by the wrecked head table, forensics technicians buzzing around it like flies. Jaime realized that Addam was watching him expectantly. “Anything interesting on the table?” 

Addam relaxed slightly. He needed direction, questions he could answer. “Nothing that stood out. I let forensics deal with it while I questioned everyone.”

Even at his own wedding, Joffrey had been surrounded by people who wished him dead. Still, Sansa had more motive than anyone. The Starks, a respected and influential family, had fallen apart since Ned Stark was gunned down. His murder remained unsolved, though Sansa insisted Joffrey had ordered the hit. She was hardly the only one who thought that. Jaime had pursued that theory, to his father’s displeasure, but had found no evidence. Besides, Joffrey wasn’t smart enough to plan the perfect crime. The honorable district attorney had made many enemies over the years. Any one of them might have taken revenge.

The two detectives approached the ruined table. The forensics team had already collected the wine glasses, plates, and flatware used by Joffrey and Margaery, but everything else was still strewn on the floor. Sansa and Tyrion had been seated at the end of the table, and their place settings remained undisturbed. 

Something crunched under Jaime’s foot as he walked behind the table. The floor was strewn with purple crystal beads. A partial strand lay near the wall. “Looks like a struggle,” Jaime observed. “Did anyone see her after…”

Addam shook his head. “No one saw her leave, either.”

Jaime sighed. Tyrion’s involvement with the Stark girl was out of character, but he’d refused to discuss it. Jaime didn’t understand how Tyrion could have moved on so fast. He’d been devoted to Shae. “Have the techs bag and tag all of this.” Jaime glanced up and found his sister stalking toward him. “I assume you didn’t talk to Cersei yet?” 

Addam shifted uncomfortably. “I tried. She accused Tyrion and insisted on speaking to you.”

“I’ll question her.” Jaime moved to cut Cersei off before she could contaminate his crime scene. 

Cersei grabbed Jaime by the arm, her nails biting into his skin. He let her drag him to one of the gifts tables. “Where have you been?” she hissed, red wine perfuming the air around her.

“Working a case, Cers. My job,” Jaime reminded her, wrenching his arm away.

“Your job?” she sneered, gesturing over to where Brienne and Tyrion were talking. “Since when is your job shirking your family duties so you can drive around the Crownlands with that giant bitch?”

“We were interviewing a witness,” Jaime answered evenly. There was no point in correcting her, defending Brienne or himself any further. Cersei was drunk and grieving. Picking a fight would only delay getting whatever information she could provide. Jaime did make a note to remind Addam to cut off the booze next time his crime scene came complete with an open bar. 

Cersei’s golden hair, pinned up in an elaborate cascade of curls, was beginning to come loose. The garnets circling her throat glimmered, lurid drops of blood. Her breasts heaved with a choked sob, but Jaime made no move to comfort her. 

“He’d be alive if you’d been here. This is  your  fault. What’s the fucking use of you being a cop if you can’t protect your own family?”

The accusation stung. Jaime should have been there, she was right. But Cersei couldn’t have it both ways: he couldn’t be a good cop  _and_ always put his family first. “I’m here now, Cers. Can you tell me what happened?” Jaime asked gently. No wonder Addam hadn’t wanted to talk to her. Cersei’s cheeks were flushed, and her green eyes were wild. She was just as likely to slap him as answer his questions. Jaime at least had years of experience dealing with her moods.

“What happened? That deformed monster you call ‘brother’ killed my son,” Cersei spat. 

Jaime struggled to keep his temper. Cersei had been dismissive of Tyrion before she’d known they were siblings. Afterward, she loathed him for his part in the death of the mother she’d never known. 

“Did you see him do something to Joffrey?” Jaime held his pen and notebook at the ready, on the off chance Cersei had actually seen something useful.

“He chose the wines. The last thing… the last thing my son did was drink that wine.” Her voice quavered as she looked back at the technicians carefully taking an inventory and bagging every item.

Jaime followed her glance. There were open bottles on most tables, and the guests were still drinking. Carefully, he tried to take the glass from Cersei’s hand. “You mean, the wine you’re drinking?”

Cersei gasped and released the glass, her hands shaking. She fled, stumbling right into Tywin Lannister, who shot Jaime a poisonous look as his son swiftly crossed the room to Addam. 

“Get forensics to bag all the wine bottles. Don’t let the guests drink any more,” Jaime ordered quietly. The last thing he wanted was to start a panic. 

Addam nodded, and Jaime turned to find Tyrion. He doubted his brother would have done anything so stupid as to poison Joffrey, much less poison wine others would be drinking. The head table had likely all drunk wine from the same bottle. 

Where Tyrion had been speaking to Brienne, Jaime now saw Loras looming over her as she sat at a table. Loras’s usually pretty face was red and twisted with anger and wine, and even from across the room Jaime could read “Renly,” “your fault,” and “bitch” on his lips. 

Loras had come to Jaime right after Renly’s death, suggesting Brienne might have set the fire in some kind of twisted gambit to win Renly’s affections. According to Loras, Brienne had harbored a crush on Renly for years. The fact that Renly had merely tolerated her hadn’t seemed to matter to her. Jaime had known Renly since he was a spoiled, selfish child. Jaime couldn’t imagine what Renly had done to earn Brienne’s loyalty, but he understood misplaced devotion. 

Without even remembering how he got there, Jaime locked his arm around Loras’s chest, hauling him back. Loras struggled, stronger than he looked, fury lending him even more power.

Brienne was pink-cheeked and teary. Jaime couldn’t read the look in her eyes so he focused on Loras. “You don’t want to do this, Loras. You do not want to assault a public defender in a room full of cops.”

"I tried, Loras. There was too much smoke,” Brienne insisted, one tear spilling down her cheek. She hastily wiped it away. “You know I loved him too.”

Loras shook his head. "Your love was nothing—"

"That's enough. Go cool off," Jaime growled, dragging Loras away and depositing him in a chair beside his grandmother. 

"Jaime, I need a word with you." Tywin Lannister stood stiffly nearby. That cool, patrician tone brooked no argument and betrayed none of the grief one might expect from a man who'd just watched his grandson die. Jaime certainly didn't expect tears from his father. Tywin’s family were cyvasse pieces to him, not people. 

While Tywin’s voice was even, Jaime saw the cold fury burning in his father’s eyes. "Let me do my job, Father. Let me find whoever killed Joffrey."

Tywin nodded. His tie wasn’t even askew. He looked perfectly composed, unless one knew what to look for. "You will find them, and I will deal with them."

"I can't allow that. Everyone would know I helped you,” Jaime protested.

Tywin waved off his concerns. "Your work has been useful but hardly necessary. You'll come work for me, as you should have done all along."

Jaime ground his teeth. "How many times do I have to tell you I don't want any part of your business? Let's try again.” He took a deep breath. Another useless conversation, one they had had before and would have again, but Jaime still felt compelled to state his case. He kept his voice low, lest they caused a scene. “No, no, no. Are you listening yet? I'm a cop, and a damn good one, not that you ever noticed."

Tywin's jaw clenched. He eyed Jaime coldly. "Then do your job, Detective. But I don’t want justice. I will have my vengeance, with or without your help."

Jaime walked away before his father could say anything more incriminating.

 

* * *

Addam slapped a Post-it note on another video monitor. Two-thirds of the monitors were marked, showing which surveillance feeds had been reviewed. While Addam was happy to escape interviewing potential suspects, he was getting a crick in his neck from sitting in the same position too long, and his eyes felt grainy from staring at the monitors. So far all he'd proved was that Oberyn Martell wasn't lying about where he'd been before Joffrey died. 

“Which one next?” Arys Oakheart asked. The young officer had a knack for finding evidence in a sea of digital files. Addam had called him as soon as he’d realized how much video surveillance the hotel maintained. 

“Let’s try this one.” Addam indicated a monitor marked “hall 4” and Oakheart rewound the footage with the flick of a few buttons.

An empty corridor appeared, shaking slightly as Oakheart ran the footage at triple speed. Suppliers arrived with food for the evening’s events, then the hall stood empty for a long time. 

Addam was raising his hand to rub his eyes when two people came down the corridor: a man dragging a struggling woman. “Freeze that.”

The image was slightly pixelated, one face turned back toward the camera.

“Sansa Stark,” Addam breathed. “Hot damn. Let’s see if our mystery man shows his face.”

Oakheart started the footage again, and they watched Sansa fight the man in the dark suit. “Is that a waiter’s uniform?” Oakheart asked. 

Addam squinted at the screen. “Might be.”

Sansa suddenly clawed at the man’s face. He stumbled against the wall, and Sansa bolted back, past the camera. The man hesitated a moment then ran in the other direction, toward the loading dock.

“Is she still in the building?” Oakheart asked. 

Addam nodded. “Call Lannister. Have him meet me in that hallway.”

 

* * *

Jaime thumbed through his notebook again. “Useless,” he muttered. One hundred seventy-six witnesses, and no one seemed to have seen anything helpful. 

The chair beside him scraped against the floor. Jaime looked up. “Are you ready to behave yet?”

Loras Tyrell grimaced. “This is embarrassing, Lannister.” He rattled his right arm, handcuffed to his chair. 

Jaime closed his notebook. He’d have to start letting the guests leave soon. They were all getting antsy, which was likely why Loras hadn’t been able to leave well enough alone. “I told you attacking the public defender would have consequences.”

“I didn’t attack her,” Loras protested, his petulant tone better suited to a small child than a grown man.

Jaime glanced at Brienne, who sat across the room talking to Margaery and Olenna Tyrell. Brienne saw him looking, offered him a small, hesitant smile. “You went back after I told you to leave her alone.”

Loras fidgeted, picking nonexistent lint from his tuxedo trousers. “Why do you care?” 

Good question, and none of Loras’ business. “My nephew just died, and you’re causing a scene instead of letting me do my job.” Jaime’s phone vibrated. Addam wanted him in the hall outside the kitchens.

“You didn’t do your job when Renly died,” Loras said bitterly.

Jaime bristled. He had done everything he could, but the fire had been ruled an accident. Jaime leaned in so only Loras would hear him. “You were there, Loras. I know you were. And you lied to save face. Stop blaming the person who tried to save Renly, and blame yourself for leaving him in that apartment to die.”

Jaime left Loras sitting there, his face gone pale, still cuffed to the chair.

 

* * *

“Damn it.”

Addam sighed as Jaime walked around the body lying on the wet asphalt. “That was my reaction too.”

The man’s face was a ruin, but he fit the general description of Dontos Hollard, the missing waiter. Addam hoped the man had fingerprints on file, because his teeth were scattered in a puddle of gore. The body lay next to a dumpster in the alley, a hole in the back of its head. 

“You said she got away from him?” Jaime confirmed.

Addam nodded as Dr. Qyburn and Pia came out into the alley to assess the fresh corpse. 

Jaime looked around the crime scene, his gaze settling on the broken security camera dangling from wires above the door. “Double damn,” he swore. “Have Oakheart check the tapes. Maybe we can see who broke it.”

Addam dropped into a crouch and, with gloved hands, reached carefully into the victim’s pockets. The first held a single key. Addam dropped it into the evidence bag Pia offered, delved into the man’s other pants pocket. 

An empty vial. “Bingo.”

“So did Sansa know he did it? Why did she run? And who killed him?” Jaime mused. He talked a lot at crime scenes. Most of it was nonsense, or maybe a way to get his thoughts organized, but Addam had learned quickly not to tune Jaime out when he rambled. Addam had been on the job barely a week when Jaime’d taken him aside and reminded him that their shared history wouldn’t stop Jaime from firing him if he didn’t get his shit together. 

“Could you just take a minute and be happy we found Joffrey’s killer?” Addam suggested. 

Jaime grimaced. “If I could dismiss the suspicion my father might have ordered this guy killed, sure.” 

Addam bagged the vial and handed it off to Pia before slowly getting back to his feet. His right knee popped as he stood, the remnant of an old football injury. Neither he nor Jaime were getting any younger. Not exactly past their prime, but Addam frequently had to stop himself from thinking of the rookies as “kids.” He wasn’t sure exactly when that had started.

He’d never admit it, but Jaime was right to worry. “You saw that crowd. I can think of at least five or six people there who could order a quick hit. It’s too early to assume Tywin was involved.”

Jaime nodded and followed Addam back into the building. 

 

* * *

Sansa risked waking up her phone to check the time. The screen was too bright in the dark closet. She’d been hiding for close to two hours. It felt like much longer, but at least she’d finally stopped crying, and her hands no longer shook. 

Footsteps echoed in the hall behind the door, and she tensed. She had heard people walking by several times. Once a uniformed cop had opened the door, but Sansa had gone unnoticed, crouching on the dirty linoleum floor behind shelves filled with cleaning supplies. After he’d left, she had locked the door. She’d felt stupid for not noticing it locked in the first place.

In another hour or so, she could try to leave. By then the police should have let everyone go. Maybe she’d be able to tell by checking her phone. The news sites had already reported police activity at the Red Keep, but there were no details yet. As soon as the guests were released, someone would talk to reporters. 

If she did manage to escape, Sansa wasn’t sure where she’d go. She couldn’t go to Tyrion, who had already texted her a dozen times, and she didn’t trust anyone else in King’s Landing. Margaery was the closest she’d had to a friend. Once she might have considered calling Sandor, but not now, even if she had his number, which she didn’t. 

Maybe Sansa could take the train back to her apartment before the police got there, get her car and head north. Mom had been holed up at a campground near Fairmarket the last time they’d spoken. 

Footsteps again. The door handle rattled. 

“Was this locked before?” The voice was muffled, but familiar.

Sansa peered around her, looking for a weapon, but the phone’s glare had ruined her night vision again. There were mops and brooms somewhere, if she could just grab one she might be able to surprise whoever opened the door long enough to get past him. Not for the first time, Sansa regretted not taking that self-defense class with Arya. 

“No, the unis said they checked every door.” Another voice, deeper. “I’ll get the keys.”

“Wait a minute, Addam.” There was a soft knock on the metal door. “Sansa? It’s Jaime.”

Sansa got to her feet, reaching out blindly in search of a weapon. Tyrion loved his brother, thought he could do no wrong. And Jaime was a cop. But Sansa’s father had never liked Jaime, so Sansa had ignored Tyrion’s entreaties to trust Jaime and report Joffrey’s increasingly threatening behavior. 

“We found Dontos, but he’s not talking. Come on out and tell me what happened.” Jaime’s voice was soothing, reassuring. 

If they’d found Dontos, what would he say? Sansa still didn’t understand why he’d taken her away, why he’d killed Joffrey. His rambling confession as they’d fled from the ballroom had stunned Sansa, horrified her. What would have happened if she’d left the Red Keep with him? Would the police have found her as dead as Joffrey? 

The door handle rattled again, and she heard one pair of footsteps retreating. 

“Sansa, open the door.”   


She was trapped. She could wait until they found the keys or come out on her own terms. Sansa reached out for the door handle and turned the bolt. 

The door opened, the light blinding her. Jaime Lannister’s concerned face resolved from the brightness. There was a cut on his temple, bruises beginning to darken his jaw and cheek. What else had happened tonight? He touched Sansa’s arm and she flinched. “Are you okay?” he asked, a ginger-haired man coming back to his side.

Sansa blinked hard, squinting against the light. “Dontos killed Joffrey,” she whispered. “I thought he might kill me too.”

Jaime frowned and put an arm around her, gentle but firm. “Addam, have a uniform pull a car around to the alley. Sansa and I are going to have a little chat, and then she’s going to wait at the station while we sort this out. Make sure my father doesn’t hear about it.”

Sansa sagged with relief. Tywin Lannister scared her more than anyone. Maybe Tyrion was right about Jaime.

As Jaime lead her down the hall, Sansa haltingly explained what little she knew. 

When they reached the door to the alley, Jaime hesitated. “Sansa, Dontos Hollard is dead. We found him outside.”

Sansa started shaking again. Would she have been killed too if she had stayed with him? Or had Dontos been killed for failing to deliver her? 

Jaime guided Sansa out into the alley, away from the still-busy crime scene and the body she glimpsed for only a second. Jaime deposited her inside a waiting squad car. Sansa finally relaxed as the car carried her away from the Red Keep. She closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. Tyrion would know what to do. He could meet her at the station.

A while later, Sansa opened her eyes. The car passed under the Mud Gate and turned onto the road to the docks. That wasn’t right. The police station was by the Dragon’s Gate. “I thought we were going to the station?” she asked, alarmed. Had Jaime betrayed her? 

The man driving didn’t turn around. “Sorry, miss. You have a prior commitment.”

The car stopped in front of a white yacht, the  _ River Cat _ _._ Sansa struggled when he pulled her out of the car, but it was hopeless. He covered her mouth with a gloved hand and dragged her up onto the yacht. 

When he dumped her onto the deck, Sansa wasn’t really surprised to see the man waiting for her.

Petyr Baelish grinned down at her.

 

* * *

Guests were starting to leave when Jaime returned to the ballroom. Loras was no longer sulking in handcuffs. Addam must have released him. Jaime collected his cuffs from the empty table. 

A hand on his shoulder caught him off-guard. “Jaime.” Brienne stood at his side, clutching a bright pink phone covered in rhinestones. 

“Tell me that’s not yours,” he said dryly.

“What? No, this is Megga Tyrell’s,” Brienne said, shaking her head. “You need to see this.”

Jaime was exhausted, but Brienne’s eyes were bright and clearly she thought she’d found something. He took the phone from her and sat down. “What am I looking at?” 

Brienne reached over and woke up the phone, which was paused on a video. “The toasts.” She pressed play, her fingers brushing over his hand. 

Jaime wished she’d do it again, but Brienne sat beside him and leaned in so she could watch the video along with him. When had her proximity become such a distraction? “Sweetheart, I can’t just watch all of these.” He still had to go to the station and question Sansa more thoroughly. 

“Watch Joffrey’s glass.”

Jaime watched, letting the tinny audio wash over him. The same ridiculous platitudes said at every wedding, although he noticed Olenna Tyrell managed to toast the couple without saying anything complimentary about the groom. 

“There,” Brienne said, startling him. “Did you see it?” 

Jaime shook his head. Her thigh kept bumping into his and distracting him.

Brienne rewound the video. This time he saw it. Dontos Hollard filled the glasses, leaving them on the table as he did so—except for Joffrey’s. That glass Hollard picked up and filled behind Joffrey’s back. After he set it down, the video caught Hollard slipping something into his pocket. The tech wizards at the station might be able to clean up the footage.

Jaime looked up to find Brienne smiling at him triumphantly, her blue eyes shining. Damn the people around them, he really wanted to kiss her. 

Which made what he had to tell her more difficult. “We found him dead in the alley. He won’t be telling us where he got the poison or why he did it.”

Brienne deflated. “Oh.”

“This proves he did it, though, that someone didn’t just slip him the vial later.” Jaime knew he shouldn’t be telling her any of this. Brienne could end up representing whoever had given Hollard the poison. Jaime didn’t want her anywhere near the kind of person who tied up loose ends with a bullet to the head.

Suddenly Brienne’s gaze focused behind him. From the way her expression abruptly softened, Jaime had a good idea who she’d seen. 

Reluctantly, he stood. “Would you wait for me?” 

Across the room, Cersei and Tywin waited expectantly. 

 

* * *

Ten minutes later, Brienne and Jaime made their way out of the hotel. She couldn’t wait to get home, peel off her dirty, still slightly damp pant suit, and take a long, hot shower. Her father had warned that King’s Landing had a way of dirtying even honest men, but Brienne doubted he’d meant it literally. 

Jaime, understandably, looked as wrung out as she felt. She hadn’t been able to hear what his family had said, but Cersei had cried while Jaime had talked to her, and Tywin Lannister’s glare would have broken a lesser man. 

Brienne wanted to offer Jaime some support, but there were too many people around and she wasn’t sure where their boundaries lay anymore. She didn’t want to misinterpret something only to have him laugh at her again. 

She bumped his shoulder as they walked. “We solved it. Why aren’t you relieved?”

Jaime sighed. “Don’t get too cocky, sweetheart, but I think you might be right.”

Brienne grinned. “Took you long enough to figure that out.”

He shook his head and scanned the guests fleeing what should have been a happy occasion. “Something bigger is going on here. We’ll just have to figure out what it is.”

Brienne cocked an eyebrow at him. “We?”

Jaime chuckled. “I can’t seem to keep you away.” He leaned in so his lips brushed her ear. “And I don’t really want to.”

“Jaime,” Brienne protested, her eyes darting to the people around them, her cheeks burning. Jaime was arrogant and dismissive and a pain in her ass, but at the moment Brienne wouldn’t have minded taking him home and sharing that hot shower with him. 

Jaime held up a set of keys. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

Brienne let him guide her to an empty patrol car, and Jaime opened the passenger door for her. As Brienne brushed past him to get into the car, Jaime stopped her with a quiet, “Wait.” He smiled at her questioning look, leaned in, and kissed her. 

After a moment’s hesitation, Brienne wrapped her arms around him and returned his kiss, heedless of anyone who might see them.

 

* * *

In the hotel across the street, a young woman stood by a window watching the guests leaving the Red Keep. She idly wrapped a lock of long, silver blond hair around her finger.

“You said the Tarth woman was no threat,” she said, her voice sweet but accusing.

Varys came to her side, followed her gaze to the couple embracing by a police car. His eyebrows went up. “That is hardly a development I could have foreseen,” he replied nervously. 

Varys had counted on Jaime Lannister’s arrogance to keep him from taking anything Brienne Tarth said seriously. She was young, easily dismissed. If she became a problem later, she could be handled easily enough. A convenient mugging gone wrong, perhaps or her father could suffer some kind of mishap.

The woman glanced back at Varys, violet eyes flashing. “If you can’t deliver on your promises, Varys, I will find someone else.” The menace in her voice was unmistakable.

Varys blanched. Sometimes he doubted he’d made the right decision in backing her plans. Hastily, he began damage control. “This may play to your advantage. They will distract each other. Your plans will be completed long before either of them realizes you’ve been orchestrating everything, all the way back to Ned Stark’s demise.”

The young woman considered that a moment, expression inscrutable. “Your efforts will be rewarded, Varys,  _ if  _ you can deliver the city as promised,” she said pointedly. 

“And then what will you do?” 

She smiled. “I will rule.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jaime's thoughts about the kids walking out as toddlers and returning as teens references SORAS (Soap opera rapid aging syndrome), a common occurrence where small children are not seen for a few months and then aged up significantly to make them more interesting characters. Tommen, of course, actually was aged up via the use of a new actor on the show.


End file.
